


The Girl in the Red Coat

by MossadHuntinDog



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Family History, Holocaust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:12:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MossadHuntinDog/pseuds/MossadHuntinDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There will be generations because of what you did."- Schindler's List</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl in the Red Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: NCIS, sadly, is not mine

They walked through the downtown district of Georgetown, bundled up against the snow and chill of the coming Christmas season, having just come from work, and the movie night Tony insisted they have up in MTAC. It had been a night of true story movies- _Pearl Harbor_ , _Michael Collins_ , _Titanic_ , _Munich_ , _Zero Dark Thirty_ , _Sophie Scholl_ , among the titles- and the team had sat through all of them, watching the plasma screen and putting up with Tony's constantly running commentary. And they'd enjoyed all of them, except for the last.

_Schindler's List_ had been the catalyst that had sent Ziva careening from her seat, out of MTAC, and out into the snowing night without a backwards glance.

Tim had followed, worried, and had managed to catch up with her out in front of the building. She'd stood in the snow, sans coat, shaking, though not due to the cold. Silently, he'd gone to her, unfolding her coat and draping it tenderly around her shoulders. She'd turned to him, and it was then that Tim had seen the tears coursing down her cheeks. Her hair hung wild about her face, those beautiful curls dotted with snowflakes, and all she'd asked was that he take her away, that he take her anywhere but back up to MTAC.

He'd obliged.

They'd left the Navy Yard not long after, pulling into their parking space in front of their Georgetown townhome, dropped their gear in the foyer, and then had promptly left, heading for the small café they usually frequented. And now, they walked arm and arm through the Georgetown streets, admiring the Christmas lights, the decorations in the windows, the way the snow seemed to cast a spell on the urban hamlet. He glanced at her, but Ziva remained quiet, gaze wandering over the window displays and lights; she stopped, slipping a few bills into the red donation tin for Salvation Army, before they continued on.

"You okay, Zi?" She shrugged, tearing her gaze from the Christmas display in the window they were walking by. Though her eyes still shone with tears, they had yet to spill over onto her cheeks. "Coffee?" She nodded.

* * *

"You sure you're okay, Ziva? You've been awful quiet since we left NCIS." A simple, silent nod was all that he received as an answer. As they left the café, heading back to the apartment, she slipped her free arm through his, sliding her gloved hand into his pocket and lacing their fingers. He glanced down at their linked arms, and gave her a small smile.

By the time they made it back to their block, the snow had thickened, falling almost in sheets by now, and she'd pressed herself tighter to him. The wait at the crosswalk brought her head to his shoulder, and as he glanced at her, he felt her soft sigh as it fluttered from her slightly parted lips and into the air. Gently, Tim brushed a kiss to her head, before they stepped off the curb. "Tony's choice in movies weren't exactly centered around the season, did you notice that?"

She nodded, lifting her head slightly. "They were all tragedies." She whispered, as they reached the steps of their townhouse.

"They weren't all-" He stopped, pulling his keys from his pocket. "Okay, they were all tragedies, but there were some that ended good-"

"None of them ended good, Timothy." Ziva replied, slipping past him into the house once he'd unlocked the door. He sighed, watching silently as she moved into the living room, still in her coat. Jethro came over to her, nudging at her legs, and she removed her hand from her pocket, scratching absent-mindedly behind his ear before heading into the kitchen. Silently, she put the kettle on for tea, but stopped just short of adding the bags to the two mugs she'd pulled out; instead, she leaned against the island counter, palms flat on the top, taking deep breaths.

After removing his coat, Tim went to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Talk to me, Ziva." She sighed, shaking her head. "Please, baby. I won't say a word unless you want me to." Slowly, she turned, looking up at him. His hands shifted to cradle her waist, and he searched her eyes. "What's wrong, love? Something Tony made us watch tonight upset you. I need to know so I can kick his ass." She chuckled softly, giving him her first genuine smile since they'd left the Navy Yard.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she swallowed, buying time to compose her answer, before,

" _Schindler's List_."

His brow furrowed momentarily, and she could see him mentally running through the list of films they'd been forced to watch, finally coming up with the one mentioned. "Oh. Oh! About the... the factory..." Ziva nodded, fixing their tea. He stepped back, allowing her to head into the living room. She curled up on the sofa, feet tucked beside her, and after a moment, he joined her. Silence reigned for several minutes, before her voice broke through, choked and thick with tears.

" _Abba_ 's family have been in Israel for generations. _Ima_ 's family wasn't." She looked down at her mug, running a finger along the rim. "My grandmother was a girl when she and her family were taken to the concentration camps in Poland. They had lived in the ghetto and were immediately separated upon arrival at... at..." She swallowed.

"Auschwitz." Tim whispered; she nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"She... she was one on his list... to work in his factory... to survive and live..." She sniffled, as Tim reached up, brushing the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "She was the only one. The rest of her family perished..." Minutes passed, as she struggled to swallow. "in the ovens at Auschwitz." Tim closed his eyes, swallowing thickly. "After the war... she fled to Israel... married a man... had my mother..." Tears dripped into her tea, but she didn't drink. "but she still bore the scars. I... I remember her... telling us stories about... about living in the ghetto and..." She swallowed. "She still... had the... on her arm..."

Her gaze met Tim's, and he reached up, brushing his fingers over her cheeks. "The tattoos, signifying that they were no longer people, but numbers." He whispered; she nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "She... took Tali and I to... to Poland when we were children, we saw where the ghetto had stood... and... and had gone to Auschwitz." Ziva took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "To this day, I can still smell the burning flesh from that trip. I do not understand... how... after all those years, she could go back... that she could go back to the place where her family died..." She choked on a sob. "We saw the..." She gestured, pretending to open a door, and Tim whispered softly,

"The ovens."

She nodded. "When you walk, you're walking on human ash. The bottoms of your shoes are coated in it, and it still hangs in the air. You have to be careful, not to breathe it in." Slowly, Tim reached over, taking her still-gloved hand. "How can a filmmaker like Spielberg glorify something so heinous as _Shoah_? Does he not have any dignity, any respect for the people who lost loved ones, for the people who died?" Slowly, Tim scooted closer to her, pulling her into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her head.

"Of course he does, Zi, that's why he made that film. It was made to show that not _all_ Germans believed in Hitler's word- like Schindler himself. He saved thousands of Jews, gave them hope, a chance to live, like your grandmother. He made things right, as best he could with the situation he was given. He did the honorable thing, and he was rewarded for it, by being considered a hero by the Jewish."

"What do you mean?" She asked, meeting his gaze. He sighed.

"Oscar Schindler, is one of the Righteous Among the Nations- one of over twenty-four thousand- that have been recognized since the war ended, by those in Israel." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her until she was in his lap. "Schindler was a hero, Ziva. He saved your grandmother, gave her a chance to live. If he hadn't..." He shrugged. "You wouldn't be here."

Ziva nodded, hearing his words, but that small part of her wouldn't accept it. After several seconds, she sighed, glancing down at her lightweight red coat. "I... I want... to watch it. _Schindler's List_. I want to finish it." He nodded, wanting to protest, but decided against it, and after returning her to the sofa, got up. Once he'd slipped the DVD into the player and started it, Ziva curled into his arms, resting her head on his chest. Curled in Tim's arms, she was able to make it through the move, holding tight to him, burying her face in his chest at the burning of the bodies, watching through her tears at the liquidation of the ghetto, and breaking into sobs when the camps were finally liberated.

But what got her the most was the little girl in the red coat.

She buried her face in Tim's chest when the cart wheeled by and the little girl's body was seen on top. He wrapped his arms tight around her, feeling her shoulders shake with silent sobs. Gently, he kissed the top of her head, telling her it would be okay. After several minutes, she shifted, watching silently. As the war ended, and Schindler was given the ring, she burrowed into Tim's arms, reaching up and brushing tears off her cheeks.

"'There will be generations because of what you did.'" She took a deep breath, twisting her necklace between her fingers as those words penetrated her mind. She was one of the countless generations that continued to go on thanks to Oscar Schindler, all because he'd given her grandmother a chance at a new life, working in his factory. And for that, she would always be grateful.


End file.
